‘Yes, well, I freely admit I was snooping to see who showed up. But the Farmer family bakery supplies the pastries and cakes for Nancy’s coffee shop, you know. And although my sister has more to do with running the business than me, she was unable to attend and I thought it only right one of us should be present to pay our respects.’
‘No sweat,’ Edge said in response to the enquiring frown the woman directed at him.
‘Alice and Noah were here earlier, of course. For the burial of Robert Jordan: the young man who worked for them. There were just the two of them and the preacher and pallbearers. A simple graveside ceremony. The casket was not taken into the church.’ Sarah Farmer seemed to be talking to mask some degree of embarrassment she was experiencing. Then she was relieved as the singing of the requiem came to an abrupt end and the town was hushed once more.
Edge said: ‘Anyway, the gossips got it right. Quinn did write me a letter that offered me a job. Which I’ve decided I’d be a fool not to take. And if you figure you can help me to do it, that’s fine with me.’
She nodded and then they both transferred their attention to the other side of the street as the preacher emerged from the church porch, followed by three sets of pallbearers shouldering caskets. She explained: ‘Clearly that is the Reverend Hicks in his dog collar and cassock. And I think you may know Jed Winter, the Springdale mortician. Harry Shelby and Frank Conway are certainly known to you. Like the other men carrying the coffins, they are not relevant. Local men being paid a few cents by Mr Winter.’
Other black garbed members of the congregation emerged from the church and as Sarah Farmer began to verbally catalogue them Edge recognised some faces and a few names he had heard. Like Mabel Travis and Tod Bell who had found the bodies at the Quinn house. Bell was a wizen man of seventy or so with thick lens spectacles, silver side-whiskers and age mottled facial skin who walked with a cane. The Widow Travis was of a similar age. Taller but with a slight stoop, she had short grey hair, tiny bright eyes and a toothless mouth that gave her hollow cheeks and made it seem like her lips were puckered from something bitter tasting.
The distinguished looking, middle aged John Grimes ran the local newspaper and was present to write an account of the funeral for the Springdale News and Avery County Journal . Miss Louisa Barry and Mrs Edith Letterman were considered by many to be the most scurrilous local busybodies, present because they were as curious as Sarah about who was and who was not at the funeral. And then there was the handsome, blond haired Matt Colman, who was today red-eyed and puffy faced from weeping in grief over the loss of the girl he had courted. Everyone who came out of the church spared at least a passing glance for the couple standing with the two horses in front of the school yard fence. And some of them did unashamedly long double takes. While Mrs Travis stared with such deep interest that she collided hard with Bell from not looking where she was going. And the myopic old timer had to steer her back on course behind the caskets toward a freshly dug grave in a far corner of the cemetery, close to one that was newly filled in.
Sarah completed listing the names and providing information about the trade or status in Springdale society - and whether they had a firm connection with the Quinns - of the people in the cemetery. Then, as the mourners gathered around the sombre toned preacher at the open grave she said: ‘I hope I’ve been of some help to you, Mr Edge?’
He unhitched the horses and saw the solemn faced children had now gone from the schoolhouse windows. ‘I’m much obliged.’
‘You’re welcome. And now I must get back and try to instil some knowledge into the minds of the new generation.’
‘It ain’t any of my business but I guess the bakery doesn’t pay enough to keep the wolves from the
‘No sweat,’ Edge said in response to the enquiring frown the woman directed at him.
‘Alice and Noah were here earlier, of course. For the burial of Robert Jordan: the young man who worked for them. There were just the two of them and the preacher and pallbearers. A simple graveside ceremony. The casket was not taken into the church.’ Sarah Farmer seemed to be talking to mask some degree of embarrassment she was experiencing. Then she was relieved as the singing of the requiem came to an abrupt end and the town was hushed once more.
Edge said: ‘Anyway, the gossips got it right. Quinn did write me a letter that offered me a job. Which I’ve decided I’d be a fool not to take. And if you figure you can help me to do it, that’s fine with me.’
She nodded and then they both transferred their attention to the other side of the street as the preacher emerged from the church porch, followed by three sets of pallbearers shouldering caskets. She explained: ‘Clearly that is the Reverend Hicks in his dog collar and cassock. And I think you may know Jed Winter, the Springdale mortician. Harry Shelby and Frank Conway are certainly known to you. Like the other men carrying the coffins, they are not relevant. Local men being paid a few cents by Mr Winter.’
Other black garbed members of the congregation emerged from the church and as Sarah Farmer began to verbally catalogue them Edge recognised some faces and a few names he had heard. Like Mabel Travis and Tod Bell who had found the bodies at the Quinn house. Bell was a wizen man of seventy or so with thick lens spectacles, silver side-whiskers and age mottled facial skin who walked with a cane. The Widow Travis was of a similar age. Taller but with a slight stoop, she had short grey hair, tiny bright eyes and a toothless mouth that gave her hollow cheeks and made it seem like her lips were puckered from something bitter tasting.
The distinguished looking, middle aged John Grimes ran the local newspaper and was present to write an account of the funeral for the Springdale News and Avery County Journal . Miss Louisa Barry and Mrs Edith Letterman were considered by many to be the most scurrilous local busybodies, present because they were as curious as Sarah about who was and who was not at the funeral. And then there was the handsome, blond haired Matt Colman, who was today red-eyed and puffy faced from weeping in grief over the loss of the girl he had courted. Everyone who came out of the church spared at least a passing glance for the couple standing with the two horses in front of the school yard fence. And some of them did unashamedly long double takes. While Mrs Travis stared with such deep interest that she collided hard with Bell from not looking where she was going. And the myopic old timer had to steer her back on course behind the caskets toward a freshly dug grave in a far corner of the cemetery, close to one that was newly filled in.
Sarah completed listing the names and providing information about the trade or status in Springdale society - and whether they had a firm connection with the Quinns - of the people in the cemetery. Then, as the mourners gathered around the sombre toned preacher at the open grave she said: ‘I hope I’ve been of some help to you, Mr Edge?’
He unhitched the horses and saw the solemn faced children had now gone from the schoolhouse windows. ‘I’m much obliged.’
‘You’re welcome. And now I must get back and try to instil some knowledge into the minds of the new generation.’
‘It ain’t any of my business but I guess the bakery doesn’t pay enough to keep the wolves from the
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